The Diary of Alex Mercer
by Ryuusei no Mog
Summary: A day in the life of Alex mercer. Watch as he tries to *unsuccessfully* blend in with society by doing...well, regular human activities XD First fanfiction ever, please read and review. Rated T just to be safe. Sorry for being bad at summaries.
1. Entry 1: shopping with the military

**A/N: ok, so this is my first fanfiction. Ever. As in I have been reading for a long time (5 years, in fact) and now I am typing up this story for my cousin, who I shall refer to as "Small Fry". Well, Small Fry, congratulations. You turned me into a Prototype fan. I will now type up this horrible, ooc fic on your request. Don't expect this to be a pot of gold or anything, really, cause I have a tendency to over type things and I think I'll just let you see for yourself.**

**I don't know when this is set, but it is before the end of the game.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Prototype. If I did, then I wouldn't be typing this fanfiction.**

Hi. I'm Alex Mercer, your average guy living in Manhattan. Ok, average guy that has the mind of a virus that could kill all of mankind and turn them into zombie virus mutation freaks. Oh, and did I mention that I can run up walls, throw tanks, and turn my arm into a blade?

Sorry, I lied about the whole average guy thing.

Hey, enough about the powers and everything else that could unleash hell in the city that I live in right now. I'm just going to talk about all the things that I try to do to blend in with the crowd...like, for instance, buying groceries. It'd look weird if you never saw your neighbor eat anything, right? It's better to avoid suspicion if you can.

You'd think that since I can disguise myself constantly in the middle of the street or run faster than a car in broad daylight without being attacked by the military that I can just go and buy a carton of eggs or some milk, right?

Wrong, dead wrong. (hah, dead….sorry diary and/or anyone that may be reading this...then again, who would?)

So I was walking down the street, to the local supermarket, in broad daylight, just to see what it was like doing a regular human activity. I know how to pay for things, I've seen it in the memories of the people I've consumed. I go in, grab a carton of eggs, some milk and head to the register. Well, I try to, but some guy bumps into me. That's all fine and stuff, some guy bumps into me, no harm done, right? Well, apparently not. I got a good look at what this guy looks like, and then it hits me.

_Oh god, he is one of those army men. Wait, why is there some weird beeping noise in the background? Is he pulling out his gun? In a store? Dammit, not this "Shoot the infected" thing again…_

Then I see one person look at me and shout at how I'm "Zeus" and he points at my hands. _Crap_, I think, _I forgot to switch it out of it's claws_.

I guess everyone else passed it off as either a weird choice of plastic surgery or for those that had bad sight, long nails painted black...wait, did they think I was one of those people with a gothic sense of fashion? I'm wearing a WHITE hoodie, people. Not to mention how long they were...Sorry, getting off topic. Then I see them start to pull out their guns, and I run as fast as I can, out the store and away from all those military men that were all conveniently shopping at the same supermarket at the same day, time, and had their gear with them. By the time I got out of the shop, there were 3 helicopters and 4 of those flying virus detector things.

They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, curiosity almost killed the mutant virus man. Almost, since I hijacked a helicopter and flew away from the area while blowing up a helicopter and three of those virus detectors. Honestly, I'm tired of being shot at when I bump into someone dressed in a uniform. Ok, so I still had my claws out, but still.

Well, I think this is it for today, tomorrow I'm going to try and do other mundane chores...

Hmm, maybe I should see what it is like to dispose of trash. I've heard people complain about doing these things, but I'm sure they haven't been attacked by a helicopter while trying to get groceries.

Oh, and by the way, diary, don't tell anyone, but I didn't pay for the milk or eggs.

**End of chapter 1 ~ **

**A/N: So yeah, did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know….Yeah, I know, Alex is probably really OOC, but Small Fry told me to write something like this just for the heck of it, and I haven't played Prototype enough to see what kind of person Alex is (only the first level.). I'm going off of what I saw him play, that first level I've played, and all those rants about how awesome Prototype is. Just so you know, I have nothing against gothic people. In case if you found that insulting at all, I'm sorry. Oh, and the beeping Alex heard, yes, that was a bit of breaking the fourth wall. There was also a small, blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Tales of Symphonia. Or at least that's what it seemed like to me…Should I continue this? With the info I have? Or just leave this as a one-shot? Review and tell me. **


	2. Entry 2: hobos like their naps

**A/N: Holy ramen people reviewed this and liked it TT_TT thank you all! I love you!...ok, not really, but you get what I'm saying(errr, typing...), right? Anyways, I haven't seen much prototype at all since I last typed up chapter one, so sorry if this ends up crappy. I know I said that about chapter one, but this one I have a feeling will actually be crappy. Now, I maaay actually make Alex do other things besides ordinary chores (I shall mention later). Who knows. If you'd like me to type anything like that up, I'll do my best. Thanks to the people that reviewed! I'll also like more advice if you don't mind. I should stop typing and save it for the end or else there won't be any advancement in the story, so without further ado, chapter two~ **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Prototype. **

Hi diary, remember me? Yeah, Alex Mercer, the guy that writes in you. Anyways, how are you?...I'm sorry, it gets lonely being the embodiment of a virus that is killing Manhattan and quite possibly, if I don't do anything soon, the entire world. Come to think of it, why am I writing in a diary...? Oh yeah, I wanted to "take a break and try to enjoy the life I have been given instead of slashing zombies in one hand and consuming them with the other." Quote courtesy of my sister. She does realize I need to do that to survive, right?

*Ahem* sorry for getting off task. Anyways, remember those milk and eggs? They miraculously survived my claws on the way back. The only problem was when I got there...I almost scared Dana to death when I came back with a helicopter on fire 2 feet behind me, my claws still activated and when I tried to give her the groceries I forgot, yes diary, I forgot my claws were still activated again. And I shoved the milk and eggs into her face. While they were in my hands.

Now, not only did she freak out, but when she freaked out, she made me drop the eggs and milk. Of course, since we both know the trouble I went through trying to get them, I tried to catch them. With my claws. Don't give me that look, diary, anything but that look. You're the only one I can share my secrets with. Anyways, I caught the milk and eggs. With my claws spearing through the milk carton causing milk to gush out and the eggs to fly away in different directions as they got hit. And yes, some of it did land on her hair. Yes, I did try to be a good big brother and wipe it off her hair. No, I didn't take it out of it's claw form. Not to mention it was with the claws that had the milk carton gushing out its insides too, so that could have gone better.

I slept outside that night. Inside of the burnt helicopter.

Needless to say, I think Dana's doing the grocery shopping from now on.

Alright, so now that we've finished looking back at my fantastic disaster, I am going to write about what happened earlier today. Remember last entry when I said that I was going to try and take out the garbage? Well, here's how that little episode went.

Apparently, Dana had some friends over while I was sleeping in the helicopter(it smelt like burnt rubber cause of the seats, what a _lovely_ smell that was, sleeping and waking up to it...and no, I don't know why no one moved it away. While it is gone now, the scent is still fresh in my mind and body, and no amount of incredibly expensive yet poor quality air freshener could get rid of it for at least a day or two...)because she wanted "to live life to the fullest before I die of some horrible virus that turns people into zombies." How she got them through without questioning why there was a burnt helicopter with her brother inside asleep I shall never know. While she and her friends were doing...god knows what (yeah, no pun intended again diary. If you didn't get it, it was because they call me Zeus, and...I'll stop.), they made quite a mess. So she told me to take out the trash when I woke up in order to redeem myself. Now, I think this wasn't AS bad as the grocery incident...ok, so it might have been just as bad or worse, but still. Anyways, she told me specifically what to do. She already vacuumed the house and was going grocery shopping(ironically enough...), so all I had to do was take the bags of trash and the stuff in our trash cans and put them in even bigger trash bags.

I think she lowered her expectations of me. Big time.

After half an hour I was almost finished, I just had to pick up the trash cans, pour the trash from there into the huge black bags(I might have seen people use them as body bags...or maybe that was on some weird detective movie Dana made me watch...)and then leave them outside for the trash collectors to take. I took the trash cans, and for some reason, whenever I tried to put it down or do anything at all while it was in my hands, I would end up throwing it. It's really weird, diary, it felt like I was being controlled or something...

I haven't shown Dana the marks on the walls yet, diary. Considering this was to redeem myself, I have a feeling she's going to make a face that would put my devastator to shame. So, continuing, the strange thing was that I couldn't do anything with trash cans besides throw them or pick them up. I wonder why that is? I remembered Dana saying that the men came down at a certain time, and at that moment of my epiphany I heard beeping noises. I looked outside and guess who was outside? I tried getting outside, but my hands were...full, you could say, so I kicked the door. Why I could do that and not peacefully place the trash down, I still do not know. I know it wasn't the best course of action, but I had no other choice. I saw that they were putting the other bags inside, and I did what I thought was the only way possible to complete this job.

I threw the trash can at the car.

Now normally, that would be fine. Please remember though, diary, that I am Alex Mercer. I am anything but normal. I threw it, and it went inside, successfully. Well, almost, since I have superhuman strength and coincidentally, there was some oil in there and, coincidentally, the speed at which I threw it inside caused a spark to go off, which fell into the oil, causing the truck to catch fire and eventually explode. Luckily, no one was harmed...too much.

The driver's shirt was on fire so he threw it on the ground and stomped on it, effectively putting it out. Too bad for him though, he had cigarettes in his coat pocket so on top of his burnt shirt, he had some burn marks from those drugs. As punishment, I had to take the truck down, along with the trash, to the junkyard. I was carrying, yes diary, carrying the burnt truck, with the garbage men riding on top of it. I'm surprised that no military men came after me. I did, however, get a job offer from those people that give people rides in a bicycle-carriage-thing. Oh, and I was pointed at by a couple of tourist buses as "The crazy white hooded man that runs faster than a car."

If they can make names like these, couldn't they call me "the white hooded super man"?

Getting back to the topic at the moment, when I got to the junkyard, the same problem happened. No, not the part where something blows up in my face, the part where I can't put something down normally. It was weird. Thank fully, I tripped over a person with a brown paper bag on his head sleeping in front of the junk yard, I think they call them "hobos" (yes diary, I was thankful for tripping over a "hobo" and it's not even Thanksgiving), which caused me to drop the truck right in front of the junkyard. Oh, and the "hobo" woke up and proceeded to throw a fork at me while I was apologizing to the garbage men. It's a good thing there were mounds of trash bags that broke their fall, other wise I would have had to explain to Dana why my little chore of taking out the trash involved paying for 2 people's medical bills and why I had an angry "hobo" chasing after me...

While the hobo was cursing at me, I thought he was gravely injured, that I had stepped on his tongue, that he had a horrible disease, or that he was foreign and the other three situations applied to him because he was slurring his words and had no sense of balance at all. Then I noticed the three bottles on the ground next to his blanket, one which had cloth wrapped around it(probably used as a make-shift pillow), and that he was holding a broken bottle in his hand. He was drunk, so horribly drunk, that when he woke up from what appeared to be a long nap he was still drunk.

Now I didn't want to deal with a drunken angry hobo that had just been woken up from his nap with a broken bottle of alcohol, so I took the best course of action. While he was ranting and talking at me(and occasionally swinging the bottle in my general direction, it's amazing what alcohol can do to the average person...) I took the opportunity to punch him in the stomach, winding him and quickly ran away because he was going to throw up due to the punch in the gut with my hammer fist. I didn't even notice my hands changing, I guess they were used to changing with the situation and changed just on instinct. Since my hands changed, in public(ok, in front of a junkyard where almost no one goes, but remember - almost), I had to run as fast as I could to the nearest dark alley, change my fists back to normal, and hide away for 3 hours before I could come back.

Diary, that WAS the right thing to do, wasn't it? Knock out the horribly drunk, angry, and now that I think about it, extremely powerless(as a lot of normal humans when it comes to me) hobo?...I don't think I should worry about that small problem, when I have something else that could possibly change my short lived adult-like life:

Dana is coming in 5 minutes.

Now diary, I think I'll just list potential problems that could haunt me later on as I record my adventures in this journal.

The walls are still messed up. I'm wasting time as I write this. Dana's fury has no rival, or to put it into a better term, "hell hath no fury like my sister", like I have generously spared you of earlier in this entry when describing what I shall now call the "grocery incident". There's also the fact that everyone but my sister antagonizes me, the military knows what I look like and people are extremely suspicious of me because I "greatly resemble that Poseidon or whatever it was", and that I may have an angry hobo that may/may not be hunting me down with that bottle of his.

Oh, I feel so loved, I'm getting chills down my spine diary.

I also think I've been watching too many television shows with Dana; I seem to be acting differently than I used to. I'm not sure if it's too much of a difference, but I'm hoping it isn't; it may hinder me when fighting against the infected population of Manhattan. Dana says it's good, that I am acting slightly more human, but I think this could be bad because I am not human to begin with(I'm a virus, this is just the body of the "monster" that unleashed...well, me.) and like I mentioned before, it could affect me while fighting.

On another note, I heard the door open, I hear Dana calling me. Another way to phrase that is "I have failed my little sister in properly disposing of garbage; I will now suffer the consequences by getting another rather frightening rant/lecture and possibly one good left hook from her." I prefer the second phrasing; it doesn't give me false hope to cling to. I'm going to hide you away now because I hear her marching this way while shouting obscenities and I'd rather not have her read you. Hopefully I will be able to write in you soon...

Wish me luck.

**A/N:...Right then. No offense to hobos at all. None. Just saying that in case if I offended anyone…..yeah. I wasn't expecting that much of a response for this story. Sorry for not updating for a while and then suddenly making this bad chapter (it isn't as..."good" as chapter one). So, I was thinking of making Alex do a bunch of other stuff besides chores because there are only so many chores our favorite virus can do that would make for a good story, unless I mash them up into one chapter. Yeah, so if you want me to make him do other things, then let me know, and I'll do my best! *nods*...oh, and Small Fry is having trouble(which is to be expected) with his fanfiction, "Of Zombies and Green bears". It's a crossover between Animal Crossing and Prototype, which is probably why it is the way it is...viewer-less(besides me). It'd be nice if you could just check up on it, see how it's doing, help him become a better writer (he needs it. Sorry Small Fry, you still need more experience...) and give him a .**


	3. Entry 3: revenge of the stalkers

A/N: Heyyy there, small fries. Been a while, has it not? Stuff happens. Got a new laptop like three months ago and I'm really lazy, so yeah. Just been reading and watching manga and anime, playin' some games…oh, and then there's school work…..and have I mentioned how bad I am at making excuses? Anyways….I decided to make this chapter for the heck of it. Here's hoping it ends up well….I apologize for this huge delay and would like to apologize some more for more ooc-like Alex.

Disclaimer: Why chess(yes), I don't own this series, thank you for asking. I also don't own any other series that I may mention/reference.

So diary, it's me, Alex. It's nice to know that I have something to record my (hopefully mine, I'll explain later) thoughts in. Yesterday, Dana came into the room as soon as I was able to hide you without her noticing. Or she just didn't care about anything I was writing in (she might care...I think…) as much as the damage done to her place. I bet the military would though, what with them and their professional stalkers (…what? I'll explain later…) going around, doing their job of….stalking me.

Damn stalkers.

I think I even heard one of them say something like "Every move you make…Every breath you take…I'll be watching you." I think that's a little hardcore, even for them. Lost, diary? I'll explain now then. I got chewed out by Dana (of course), and so I couldn't stay the night over. I left, then came back to smuggle you under my hoodie when she wasn't looking. I came back for you, diary. We're comrades. I fight the virus, you fight my mental problems.

So, anyways, I slept in a dark alley, where I got woken up by some random guy, trying to steal anything I had on me. I wish he had the mental capacity to know not to attack someone that looks exactly like the descriptions of the most wanted man in Manhattan. Sure, it was dark, but still. White doesn't exactly blend in with black. Normally, I would've tried to kill him without breaking a sweat or batting an eyelash…but if I did that, I'd be in more trouble with Dana.

Oh, and I'd be running from the (surprisingly competent nowadays) military.

So I picked up the man, dropped him into the nearest infected part of the city, and ran off. Unfortunately, the military caught me jumping from the rooftops and immediately started to chase me, accusing me of leaving behind someone to die from "infected zombie things".

I was half-asleep, cut me some slack diary.

As we speak, they're watching me closely. Or trying to. I lost them, thanks to this thing called a "cosplay convention." You'd be surprised on how many white-hooded people with sharp objects in their hands I saw. Though not many because of the whole "Zeus" thing, there were people trying to jump from random gaps and climbing buildings while calling themselves "Altair".

So I just went with the flow, randomly pickpocketed someone, and used their money to buy a hotdog.

I was looking around, curious as to the people around me. I saw many disturbing things that I will not mention. Well, not too many, anyways. Let's just say that some girls have very…active imaginations. Oh, and people like seeing oddly dressed people doing strange dances. I'll have to ask Dana about this when she forgives me (she has to; I'm scaring away those men that have their eyes on her. I know she's grateful. I know she is. I think.)…but back to the girls. You see, I consume many people. Some happened to be teenagers. Some of those teenagers happened to be girls.

Some of those girls happened to make squealing noises that sounded like dying animals when I walked by certain people. I had constant headaches, and tried slamming my head into a wall when I realized it wasn't just in my head; there were squealing girls everywhere. I think some were following me, actually…which was scary, since I couldn't even tell they were there.

It's actually kind of sad when a teenage girl can stalk you better than some highly trained military personnel. I guess it's kind of even more pathetic when you think that some people are trained to stalk people like me. Trained stalkers. So, trying to keep my distance from the girls, (though that place was the best place to hide at the moment, I don't think I'd be able to stand hearing more squeals) I left and wandered around aimlessly until I saw a bar.

Now I've also consumed some people who've been alcoholics, so I felt a desire to get in there and get a drink or even a sip. This was what I thought until I saw something come out of the corner of the street and crash right into me.

It was him. The drunken hobo. He was, once again, drunk and holding that same broken bottle (if I remember correctly from someone else's memory, a broken vodka bottle) but this time not as drunk. He remembered me, since we stared each other down. That was pretty impressive for a drunk man. Then he shouted something along the lines of "it's Hera, the wanted man! He's gonna kill us all!" in a not as slurred but still obviously drunken tongue.

_Well_. Zeus, sure. Poseidon, what the heck, sure. Hera? Excuse me, get your Greek gods straight. I'm pretty sure I look 100% percent male. I guess I shouldn't hold it against him since he was drunk…but I get the feeling that I will be called many different Greek gods before I am finished writing in you. He then started flailing his arms trying to hit me with his drunk hobo aim. I dodged, knocked him out (with my hammer fists), and tried to take him to the same place I left that guy that was trying to steal from me. It would've worked, but this man was drunk, so when I started rooftop jumping while carrying him, he started to twitch…

Then he started throwing up while I was rooftop jumping.

Thank the gods (do not start with me, diary) he was facing away from me. Still, his throw up was hitting the people of Manhattan and if I didn't do anything, it would hit someone from the military and attract unnecessary attention. Since I didn't want to deal with this, I left him on one of the rooftops and went to kill some infected. That relieved some stress. I think it effectively silenced the voices in my head, seeing me slaughter them so mercilessly.

I'm writing this right now trying to figure out how to apologize to my sister in a way that will work and how to get rid of voices in my head without killing and consuming infected while avoiding the military. If you could answer me and help me with my first two problems, that'd help. I could consult some of the voices in my head about Dana, but then they'd never be quiet afterwards. Oh well.

Oh, I think one of the guys following me just decided to forget the stealth and get with the shooting. Sorry diary, maybe next time.

~ Alex Mercer

A/N: Well, what do you think? I think I'll keep the hobo in there. He's grown on me. Anyways, review this please, tell me what you think, and if caught some references, see if you can tell me where they are from. Once again, sorry for ooc-ness, and sorry for the delay. Oh, and I'm thinking of making another Prototype fiction….a series of AU stories in it. That'd be fun….what do you guys think? Should I go for it? Read and Review! Thanks!


	4. Entry 4: soon to be gentlemen

**A/N: Why hello there. I've updated, and I don't think it'll be a good chapter (I've been saying this a lot, haven't I?) but if you read it you can at least tell me what to improve on and what to add, what to remove, etc. I can't remember if I said this or not, but I think the quality of chapters decreases after each update. Eh, oh well, I'll try and make better chapters. Please review this thing, it's nice knowing you enjoy this (or have read it at least)**

**Disclaimer: Since I am too lazy to come up with a creative way to say that I don't own Prototype and any materials mentioned/referenced...well, repeating what I just said would be a pain, wouldn't it?**

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Well, Diary, remember where we left off? Some idiot thought he could kill me on his own with aim like an amateur. The military should have gotten someone better to do the job than this guy. Like, say, if they got a sniper to do the job then they'd be on the right path to a Zeus-free future. It doesn't matter though; I have no intention of falling to the likes of them. Becoming the drunk hobo's drinking partner is far more likely than the military having their way with me. Anyways, back to the main topic.

As I was getting to say, I killed the guy on the spot before his bullets hit me with my scythe. I don't want people to notice that my hoodie is the same one I've been wearing, if it has any distinguishing traits (like, say, blood stains and bullet holes) then I'd get chased around Manhattan like there was no tomorrow. I've already gotten this thing damaged enough, if I got it ripped up and whatnot, I'd have to get another one and I think it'd look suspicious if someone that looked like Zeus and wore the same clothes as Zeus would go shopping for something that only Zeus would wear.

We both know how much fun being suspected of is, after all...

So after I killed the guy, I checked to see if anyone else was around. No, it was just him. I could've consumed him, but I just didn't feel like adding to the colony of people in my head. I need to start consuming people unless I really need to. If I end up consuming people left and right, I would end up getting more annoying voices like the ones mentioned in the last entry. Besides, they'd be a lot more careful (i.e. sending in tanks and helicopters by the dozen) if I kept eating up their people like the cookie monster and his...cookies.

Don't ask me how I even know about that blue, fuzzy, cookie-obsessed monster. It probably came from the mind of someone I consumed. More trouble because of the consuming. Ok, so it wouldn't matter that much if I consumed a regular person, but they'd notice the absences of bodies that are registered on their list if I consumed more personnel.

Oh, look diary, someone in my head is telling me to go see some therapist. I'm guessing...it's a military personnel. How fun. Oh, and by coincidence, I ended up consuming an entire family, so now they can all rest in my skull. The population of Blacklight village population just keeps growing and growing...I'll need to take an aspirin one of these days. Or just slaughter infected. That always quiets them down. Either it quiets them down, or they get so afraid and start crying until they can't cry anymore...except for those people that play those zombie apocalypse games and scream headshot every time the infecteds'...you guessed it, head got damaged in anyway. They don't do this too much, but it can get annoying. So I just keep trying to gross them out until they stop.

It never really works that much in the end.

Why couldn't they have played some other game? I'm hearing them say things like how it's like being in a first person shooter game (which I just recently found out about), and I just wonder, why couldn't they have fallen victim to the cookie monster instead?

Where am I going with this, anyways? I think I'd better do a topic shift before I rant in you completely. So, like I was saying I looked around and saw no one in sight. So I disposed of the body (i.e. set it on fire) before wondering how to get back to Dana when I saw a little girl in a park, crying because her balloon was stuck in a tree. A bunch of voices in my head immediately started telling me to go to help her, one even went so far as to try and control me and ultimately failed (I brought up a mental image too horrid to mention and it got him quiet pretty quickly, diary. It would've been impossible for him to take over anyways), so I went, causing everyone (yes diary, pretty much everyone) to cheer and tell me that I'm not a completely heartless and cruel jerk face.

...Ouch, diary. That cut me deep. I mean sure, I can kill people in cold (technically warm) blood, and I consume people, and have ruined lives so terribly they will never be the same again doesn't mean that I'm...

Well, I walked right into that one, didn't I?

Anyways, after that demotivating compliment, I went to aid the little girl. She was small, from the age group of 4-6, sobbing. She looked a bit familiar...just a bit. I climbed up the tree and gave her the balloon and was met with an extremely teary eyed girl. It took a lot to not twitch from all of the "Awwww"s, cooing, and words of comfort being said. Oh, and they were all nagging about how I was supposed to comfort her. When I asked her what was wrong, she said that she got lost from her parents. I stayed with her, telling her it's alright and that everything will be ok until her parents found her and thanked me. Then, they said the dreaded line...

"Say, don't you look like that boy Hermes or whatever?"

I got demoted from Zeus to Zeus' errand boy. I quickly denied it (because technically I'm "Zeus", not Hermes), ran off, and hid in an alley for about an hour. I helped a little girl, diary, aren't you proud? I was too, for about three seconds until some rustling behind me coupled with the voices in my head killed any happy mood I had. Guess who it was? Our friend, the drunk hobo with the broken vodka bottle. He was clearly in his element (drunk beyond belief) as stared at me really hard, stumbled over to me, and almost threw up all over me. Almost; I spun him around quickly and held him in place as he threw up not on me. After releasing his load, he stared at me, grinned, hit me with his bottle, and fell asleep, talking about how turtles and giraffes will cross and create a "turaffe".

I was about to stomp on his stomach (he hit me with his bottle and almost threw up on me, I'm entitled to a little revenge) when he quickly sat up and started chasing me out of the alley, down the street, and on the path to Dana's apartment while shouting things like "Ish da zhoosh boy" and "Ya thought you could fool me" along with many, many curses until the door to her apartment opened and she stepped out, looking at me like I was going to get the punishment of a life time. Then the most mind blowing thing happened. The drunk hobo stopped, stared at her, and when he opened his mouth to speak, it was something I'd never dream of hearing.

"Well, hello there fine young woman. How are you doing this evening?"

I think the sight of her sobered him up or whatever, cause he was now trying to look like the typical ladies man even though he had tattered clothing, a brown paper bag on his head, a broken vodka bottle and reeked of alcohol so badly that the balloon that little girl had would've popped just by being in Manhattan.

Never had the term "if looks could kill" had such an accurate description. Of course, for the wrong reasons.

The shock was shown on Dana's face too, but she quickly recovered, said "I'm not interested", dragged me into the apartment, and closed the door. Dana had her little talk with me, but then she stopped and went back to her room, doing whatever it was she was doing before she opened the front door. I'm in my room, and I think the hobo is gone as of right now, but god only knows (do not mention anything, diary) when he'll be back.

Till next time, diary.

-Alex Mercer

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**A/N: Why 'ello there (again). I heard the cookie monster is now the veggie monster. That just breaks my heart. Anyways, how are y'all after reading this? Once again, sorry 'bout this chapter, it is by my standards barely passing for a chapter that I should update with. Oh, I really like that hobo of mine. If you all could read and review and/or leave constructive criticism, that'd be nice. And by nice, I mean more motivation for me to write a chapter that could be better than this one. K thanks.**


	5. Entry 5: I call her Stella

**A/N: Hello everybody, hello everybody~! It's been a while, hasn't it? This is usually the part where someone puts an excuse of sorts...yeah, I have none, so I won't risk a headache trying to think of a good one. Also, responding to some reviews:**

**Demon Lord Shadow: Thanks for the idea. It might not be completely what you had in mind, but...eh. *shrugs***

**DevilDog235: Thanks for the offer. I might take you up on that some other time...I mean, I've thought of doing this a lot, but as stupid as this sounds, I want the first thing I put up on deviantart to be a drawing I made. Stupid, yeah, but I'll stand by this. No, I haven't made a drawing to put up there yet. Maybe it should be the hobo and alex...or a giant whale. I like whales.**

**Rne123: I think I'll make a separate fic for that...or part of a random series with Alex in alternate universes.**

**And to those that have reviewed that I didn't mention, YOU FREAKING ROCK.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prototype or anything else mentioned here. I would like to own a whale though...**

Chapter 5: I call her Stella.

So Diary, how long has it been? Only a day or two? It feels like it has been at least a couple of months though...Oh well. Last time I mentioned Dana got hit on by our resident creep, Mr. Hobo. She hasn't left her room in 3 days and demands that I slice up anyone that knocks on the door. Her meals consist of cup noodles and pizza that I've... "found" in people's houses. Yes, I "found" them in houses. Some partially opened. There were breadsticks I "found" with sauce, along with finding food inside of mystical treasure boxes known as "refrigerators".

...I'm not fooling anyone when I say "found", am I? I thought it was pretty smart, too...

Anyways, she told me to go get a guard dog. She said she didn't care what it looked like as long as it could "castrate anything within 10 feet of it". She told me this after she threw a chair at me when I opened her door, claiming it was self-defense and it could've been the hobo. This was also after I knocked on the door and told her it was me.

Don't tell anyone Diary, but I think it's that time of the month...

So I asked the people in my head what their opinions were on a pet that fit that description. They were so quiet at first, I swear. When I want them to speak, they don't, but then when them speaking is the thing farthest from what I want, they all chime in happily as if I'm _not _a virus monster freak and they _aren't_ people the virus monster freak absorbed. Anyways, the responses I got ranged from infected, to penguins, to piranhas, to giraffes. Oh, and the occasional Loch Ness monster.

That little session reminded me why I don't usually talk to them.

I settled on not worrying what it looked like and focused more on the first thing I "found" that was obedient. I "found" a dog tied to a tree. Again, people started gushing in my head how cute it was. Again, I wanted them to shut up. Someone told me it was a poodle, and that "castration was too messy for this widdle cutie". So after I consumed it (...what? I have to eat to live, diary. Plus, it shut them up big time. Well, most of them, anyways), I went to a more "reliable" source. Something that could promptly...disable, sure, let's use that word, disable anything within 10 feet of it.

The military base...

...targets, the infected area. I always felt safer surrounded by all those nests than being surrounded by tanks

What, did you _honestly_ think I could go to the military for something like this? Sure, they can incinerate anything with the touch of a button, but I don't think I'd get a warm greeting from them each and every time I would leave and enter the house.

Oh, and there's the whole "Hunt kill maim zeus" thing...

So I went along to one of the infected areas, and took a deep breath of the place. Yeah, it didn't smell as nice as I remembered it the last time. Or the time before that. Or the time when it was actually normal and not home to mutant zombie infected people.

Why did I find this place comforting again?

Oh, right. Virus fitting in with its infected minions and whatnot. And the fact that I could slaughter these guys with the wave of one overly large butcher-knifed set of claws. I then proceeded to walked down one of the streets all casual like; normal shaped hands in normal pockets of normal (yet semi blood-stained) pants on a (seemingly) normal guy who was walking down a normal (if you were blind, deaf, had no sense of smell and/or were insane) street passing by and occasionally saving (previously) normal people (who were running away screaming for their lives from infected or were in the process of being eaten or killed) as if I were some guy working at a minimum wage paying job and called in sick just so I could screw around in the city and complain about my life.

It's funny, I think I stood out more than anything else there. I didn't run into anyone with a gun that was aiming for me though, so I think I did a good job...

Eventually, I went down a dark alley and saw a tail poking out from behind a trash can. I walked over and saw that it looked like it was a dog facing the wall of the dark alley. It was kind of weird, really, how it was just wagging its tail in a dark alley, like it _wasn't_ in an infected area with people screaming everywhere and the military _wasn't_ attacking things that didn't scream out the words "help me". It kind of made me feel almost slightly fuzzy on the inside.

Unfortunately, everyone took that as a signal to start going "AWWWWW" as they saw what appeared to be a dog with nice yet...slightly blood-stained and disheveled fur. Then the dog turned around, and all the "AWWW"s turned into "OH GOD"s and "WHAT IS THAT" and "EWWWW".

If I get a migraine because of them, I swear...

Where was I? Oh, right, the mutant freak dog. So it looked like a semi-normal dog from behind, but from the front...hoo boy...the mouth was split into four, it had abnormally sharp teeth (dripping with blood, I might add), one bloodshot eye, and a two foot long tongue. Hanging out of the mouth was an arm of an infected. You could tell the arm was infected, it smelled worse than a severed human arm and the skin was all weird, too.

So you might be wondering what happened after that, right? Well...

...I guess you could say I sort of smuggled the dog out of the infected area.

I hid the bone of that arm in my sleeve (hey, dogs like bones, right?), and sort of shoved the dog down my shirt. Then I remembered I was a super powered virus, pulled the dog out of there before it started eating me, and jumped across rooftops. You know how dogs stick their tongues out of their mouths outside of an open car window? This one stuck its two foot long tongue out while I was running and jumping, and it was _nasty_.

Nasty, yet somehow endearing, in a disgustingly cute yet creepy and disturbing way.

I stopped by a pet store and "found" a muzzle while I was in the area. I was about to pick out a collar for it too, but then I saw a familiar face. There he was, the hobo, wearing a brown paper bag covering his forehead and hair, wearing the same "aesthetically pleasing" rags and that heavy scent of vodka looking at the selection of collars.

He looked slightly buzzed, which was an incredible improvement from previous meetings. Then he pulled out a bottle of...whatever type of alcoholic beverage there was under that brown paper bag on his head and chugged it all down, unblinking, some of it spilling out of his mouth due to lack of coordination. He wiped his mouth and dropped the bottle onto a random table nearby.

Even I have to admit that chugging all of that while standing and not collapsing was impressive.

It took a while for the alcohol to kick in with a heavier effect, and then the familiar swaying, hiccups, and random giggles happened. He noticed me, but apparently he didn't recognize me as the guy that punched him in the gut. No, he thought I was a store clerk. I decided to play along and avoid making a scene, since making a scene with wonder dog the mutant freak by my side is the last thing I'd want to do before it would go insane and tear everyone's bones to shreds. He tried to make small talk with me, but I stayed silent most of the time. Our conversation went kind of like this:

"Heeeyy, I, heheh, shink I know youuuu...you zha...sha store clerk..."

"..."

"Heheh, you remin' me o' dish guy...hezzat guy...dat god boy dat cheats on 'is wife wid all da pretty girls...Persheish, riiiight?"

"Perseus...?"

"YEAH! Da purse man! Heheh, you know wha I'm doin? I'm gettin' two collars...one's for me, the other is for this hot chick I saw the other day...heheh...When I find out her name, Imma put 'er name on this red collar, and-"

That was the part where I picked up the bottle off the counter, smashed him in the head with it, took the dog, and ran the _hell_ out of there. It's a shame the bottle didn't break when I hit him...I wasn't really aiming to kill, more like knock out and/or cause amnesia. I think I'm getting softer, Diary.

After I got home, I took the dog and showed it to Dana.

...She promptly freaked out and threw another chair at me.

Well, she did say she didn't care how it looked as long as it was a good guard dog...and that's what the muzzle was for, to mask the whole hideous mouth and creepy tongue thing. After she calmed down (an hour later), she told me to name it and put the muzzle on. I saw it already had a collar, and decided to name it Stella. Stella the mutant dog. Technically, it's "Stella the mutant infected dog", but that doesn't roll off the tongue easier than the other title.

So yeah, that's about it so far...wait, I forgot, I told Dana about smashing the hobo's head in. She was so happy she started dancing to a song with lyrics that consisted mainly of "I feel good". Then she slapped me, telling me it was wrong to nearly kill someone in a pet store. Come to think of it, I hit him when he was in the middle of a sentence, I bet he's going to have an even worse time than usual trying to form words...

Well, everything worked out for the best in the end. I think I hear Dana freaking out over Stella eating her dog food with that two foot tongue of hers. I'm actually think it's longer than two feet, I don't know...but until next time, diary, I wish you a good day.

~ Alex Mercer.

**A/N: Annnd that's all for chapter 5! Give me ideas, I like ideas! And reviews! If you had to pick between one or the other, pick ideas, because you'd have to review to give me an idea! :D yeah...so, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I had fun writing this thing. Reviewing would make my day; I never thought I'd get 20 reviews for a story before. I think I will make another fic...yes...soon...soon...**

**Also...If you were wondering what Stella looks like, just picture the illegitimate love child of the target dog with those Resident Evil 4 monster dogs and some blood-stained fur. Hah...am I allowed to say something like that on here? I'm not sure _ No offense was meant out of anything on here! Well, I hope you review and whatnot. Yeah.**


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